Cold Conflict (Deception Fleet Book 2)

by Daniel Gibbs

  Something he couldn’t define flashed across Ramsey’s lean face. Irritation? Surprise? Whatever the emotion, the only thing Ramsey let slip was a smirk that could go either way. “While the cat’s away, the mice will play.”

  Jackson wondered if by “away,” he meant ensconced in corporate offices. He had a hard time believing, though, that Tactisar could get away with anything without Noor and the other executives keeping a close eye on their employees. Then again, the whole purpose of his tour was to meet a guy Tactisar had planted inside the company headquarters.

  Ramsey’s commlink chirped. He looked at it—and stopped.

  Jackson had to change course to avoid slamming into his new boss. “Problem?”

  “Nope. Just a message I didn’t want to miss.” Ramsey’s voice carried a couple of notches louder than before. “Come on. I’ll show you around our station here.”

  They were halfway down a long stretch of escalators to the next floor, offices arrayed around an octagonal courtyard filled with fountains and fragrant flowers, when Ramsey scratched at the corner of his mouth.

  “Have to nix the meet,” he muttered.

  Jackson had to pay close attention to his words because of his efforts to disguise his speech.

  “Boyd is being watched.”

  “Watched? What the hell?”

  Ramsey glowered at him. Jackson shrugged. “Hey, whatever you say. I thought this contact was undercover. You telling me they blew it?”

  “No. Boyd’s worried about surveillance. Things have tightened up since the incident leading to our vacancies a couple of weeks ago. Boyd’s going to reschedule after we get you in. He doesn’t think we can make it a casual meetup.”

  Jackson resisted the urge to look around and see if they were being followed. None of the security posted in the courtyard seemed to be paying them mind. “I thought you owned this place.”

  “You kidding? Tactisar is big, too big. No way everyone’s all in on our plan.” Ramsey acted like he was checking his messages again. “We’ve got enough, but so do the execs. So, we play it close to the vest, no pun intended.”

  “Got it. Like the women behind us, to the right.”

  Ramsey stopped at the holographic map of Nosamo’s complex and circled to the other side, as if he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Jackson did likewise, pointing at an imaginary target on the map. They could see two Tactisar women in corporate garb hanging out across the way, chatting by a drink station.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen ’em before. Nice catch. They’re definitely on the execs’ bribe list.”

  “Them bribing you guys to watch for some other folks who are planning something with a higher bidder,” Jackson murmured. “I’d write it all down except you’d kick my ass.”

  “Yep.” Ramsey chuckled. “Security station’s this way. Keep an eye out for more followers, got it? Since that seems to be your thing.”

  “Speaking of thing, what exactly are we looking to score? What’s Nosamo’s new toy I hear you guys whispering about?”

  “Newest atmo tech. It’s supposed to be a game changer—as in, forget the bulky regulation towers Nosamo’s famous for. Compact, smart, but expensive. Nobody has anything close on the market. Well, nobody anymore. Nosamo makes sure of that.”

  “Fits the rumors I’ve heard. Man.” Jackson shook his head. “Too bad about Boyd, though.”

  “Don’t sweat it.” Ramsey nodded toward a patrol drone, the same kind Jackson had seen the two officers use right before Ramsey had found him on the avenue. “We’re not the only ones watching.”

  Vasiliy Kiel gazed at the bank of image windows before him. Shadows of the good old days spent monitoring League of Sol citizens before he joined ESS and turned his focus outward, toward the League’s foreign enemies—keeping his eye on everyone and everything as much as was humanly possible.

  He squeezed his tablet until his fingers left rainbow prints on its surface. It was better that way than his previous attempt to undermine the Terran Coalition. There was no sugarcoating the outcome—CDF Intelligence had outplayed him. Kiel recognized he had underestimated not only their tenacity and insight but their willingness to bend and break the moral codes he had assumed all Terrans held so sickeningly dear.

  They have people unafraid to do what is necessary, Kiel mused. This makes them dangerous, though I don’t mind the challenge. What good is a hunt if the prey poses no threat?

  The light above his office door flashed orange. Good. Back already. Kiel unlocked it from his console.

  Ferenc entered, no more bothered by the glare from the dozens of screens than he was by the deep darkness of the rest of the makeshift command center. The abandoned machine shop was unlisted on station plans, out of use for at least a couple of decades. Water dripped from old conduits overhead. Kiel wondered if the musty smell likewise irked him. He decided he would have better luck discerning the nonexistent emotions of a bot.

  “Ramsey is moving plans along,” Ferenc said. “He’s found a possible sub for Venable a new arrival, ex-Ranger for the Terrans.”

  “A suitable criminal, one hopes.” Kiel stirred a cup of tea. At least the aroma pushed away the mingled stench from his immediate vicinity.

  “He showed me the resume. Seems promising. The background check proves clean so far. I’ll run it through for a deeper scan.”

  “Very well. I trust there have been no further issues with the drones.”

  “No, sir. But the signal interruption is still a problem. Yahanotov is working on tracing it to its origin.”

  “I thought it was a glitch, or so he claimed.”

  “That was his initial suspicion. He was wrong.” Ferenc seemed to consider his next words with care. “It could be covert communication.”

  “Ah.” Kiel returned to his screens. He set the search program to locate Detective Ramsey. “Then we may have a line on Nels’s partner, who along with Nels, cost us time and manpower.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that.” Kiel expanded the screen the search algorithm presented. Ramsey walked by, a younger man alongside him. He watched as Ramsey’s fellow pedestrian turned toward the drone’s visual pickup. “This is Mr. Arno?”

  Ferenc nodded.

  “Keep watch on him, and of course, let me know the results of the deep background examination. If the Terrans have brought people aboard Bellwether to interrupt our work, I want to know soon.” Kiel smiled. “They took a great deal of time and energy to uncover our operation when we were rebuilding a warship inside an asteroid. This time, I wonder how they will fare when we leave nothing but a husk behind.”

  9

  Bellwether Station

  Caeli Star System—the Alvarsson Wedge

  21 November 2464

  * * *

  Ramsey was good for his word. He had Jackson assigned to the security substation inside Nosamo first thing the next morning.

  The cold, white-walled offices were a far cry from Precinct Six’s dingy environs. The substation didn’t feel used, as if it had been a prefab shelter dropped whole onto the surface of a newly colonized planet. Jackson’s console was in a far corner, away from the main entrance. He had the barest glimpse of the long windows facing the hangar bay. Every half hour, the transparent wall rumbled with the departure and arrival of Tactisar gunships.

  Jackson found the crisp, clean office as dull as his equally crisp, clean apartment, which was a kilometer away from the security substation. The accompanying work was equally dull, because it was clear the Tactisar staff nearest to Nosamo’s HQ were held to a different standard than their streetwise compatriots.

  “Daily reports due at eighteen hundred hours.” His supervisor didn’t bother with ID, other than a badge bearing the number 505. He was tall, bald, Hispanic, and entirely devoid of personality. “You’ll find the duty roster in your introductory files. While on duty, you are not to speak to Nosamo staff unless they request your assistance, then any resulting consultations are to be kept i
n the strictest confidence. Your daily reports will include those conversations, which will be sealed in company classified records. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” It was simpler to act the obedient, duty-driven officer than the scoundrel Ramsey expected because the former was much closer to the reality of Jackson’s actual CDF service. “Looking forward to my first shift, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The supervisor’s voice took on a dry tone. “No doubt that’s why Detective Ramsey shuffled you up here. If you’d been the kind of wayward individual he calls an ‘officer,’ I’d have kicked you right back down-level. I saw your record. Seems you made mistakes and this is your mode of atonement, is that it?”

  Jackson nodded, fully aware Ramsey had doctored his already-CDF-faked service records with the Rangers. Ramsey had excised certain crimes, casting “Jack Arno” as more of a victim of poor circumstance than a corrupt and greedy fallen officer. “I am doing my best, sir. Appreciate your giving me a second chance.”

  “I don’t do thirds, Officer Arno. Remember that. Report to your shift.”

  Two hours later, Jackson had a prime position in one of the tertiary junctions in Sector A Ninety-Seven with a clear line of sight to the bank of elevators leading from the main lobby. Hundreds of technicians, executives trailed by human or robotic assistants, and clusters of white-coat researchers streamed by his post.

  It sure pleased Brant. “We’re clicking upward of fifty faces every minute,” Brant muttered through Jackson’s earpiece. “I’m cross-referencing with the company personnel files. You’d think they’d have stricter security protocols surrounding those, but the microbots didn’t have nearly as much trouble accessing personnel as they did trying to break through the lab’s firewalls.”

  Which was why the team still hadn’t gained access. The microbots were gone, having disintegrated to avoid detection, leaving behind hardly any trace molecules. Jackson clasped his hands behind his back, tapping them against his belt in rhythm to the passing footfalls. Two more Tactisar officers were stationed with him in the tertiary junction, again identified only by their badge numbers, 773 and 296. Jackson crossed his arms, making sure his wrist unit could get clear sweeps with the embedded sensors.

  “Not much of interest on their records. At least, nothing criminal is showing up, unlike for your buddies downstairs.” Brant’s tone perked up. “Familiar face at your three o’clock.”

  Jackson didn’t look. In fact, he made sure he was inspecting a passerby in the opposite direction so when Gina’s laughter carried down the hall, he wasn’t paying attention.

  She strode through the junction with two young women and an older man trailing her. The women seemed to follow her every word in abject worship, while the man frowned over whatever she’d just said. “I don’t think they’ll go for the concept, Ms. Willis.”

  “Gianna, please, Aberforth.” Gina smiled at him. “And they will go for it because they’ll realize it’s in their best interests to partner with Nosamo by directly providing rare metals rather than fighting with the local merchant’s guild over shipping prices.”

  “We can work up the new contract specs before they arrive, say, within the next two hours.”

  “Call it an hour and a half. We shouldn’t keep the customer waiting.” Gina touched the shoulder of the willowy, dark-skinned woman tapping notes into a tablet at her right side. “Fillory, why don’t you arrange tables for us and the customer at Giardino? Tell Liliana I’m happy to send her the usual prepayment if she needs.”

  “Of course, Gianna.”

  “Wonderful. Aberforth and I will greet the customer’s shuttle at ten three zero hours.”

  They passed into the corridor, their chatter melting back into the murmur generated by the rest of Nosamo’s employees. It sounded like Gina was doing just fine merging with the corporate culture. Her ability to turn a conversation into an opportunity was one of her shining abilities. Her talent for infiltrating otherwise-secure facilities and either retrieving or sabotaging was the other.

  “Officer Six One Six.”

  The redheaded woman wearing a sleek yet professional white dress approached him, holograms wavering in the air above the device she cradled. Ciara, Jackson recalled, though he blanked on her title and—

  “Ciara Bui. Head of Operations, part of Ardalion Noor’s personal leadership staff,” Brant said in his ear. “She knows what goes on. All of it. Her personnel background is the most difficult to access, not because it’s locked but because there’s not much there. She’s the one Gina met her first day and who set Gina up with all her access codes.”

  Jackson made sure he was extra attentive. “Ma’am.”

  “No need for the formality, Officer.” She smiled. “Ciara is fine.”

  “Yes, Ciara.”

  “You’re settling in well? I see you’re the newest addition to our security ranks here in HQ.” She stood very close, enough so that Jackson could smell the faint perfume and see the fine hairs on her arm raise from the cool air of the station’s HVAC.

  “I am, thanks. Spent some time down-level on regular patrols before Detective Ramsey shifted me upside.”

  “I hope you find the environs more pleasing than your former post.”

  Jackson nodded. “That I do. Is there something I can help you with, Ciara?”

  “There is, as a matter of fact. I have a new employee on staff in whom Mr. Noor has taken a particular liking. While I trust his judgment—after all, I wouldn’t be in this post if I didn’t—I’m concerned by her background. She did work for two of our rivals at various points in her career.”

  “All right.”

  Ciara gave no further comment at that point, leaving Jackson to draw out her intentions. Clearly, she wanted him to guess. Or at least do more of the talking, which would incriminate her less.

  “Does she need, uh, looking after?”

  “If you think it’s a wise precaution.”

  “I think… if you’re concerned, Ciara, then Tactisar should do its job and make sure this new gal isn’t a problem.”

  “Correct.”

  “You’d like this reported to you. Directly, I suppose.”

  “I would.”

  “Who am I looking for?”

  “Check your surveillance equipment. She passed this way not a few minutes ago. Gianna Willis, operational support.”

  “Well. Damn,” Brant muttered.

  Jackson gave a curt nod, which he hoped would disguise his own consternation. He kept his face the same neutral mask he’d worn during the day’s patrol, though he did let a frown cross his lips.

  “Is there a problem, Officer Six One Six?”

  “No, there isn’t. I just…” Jackson cleared his throat. “Look. I’m new on this job, ma’am. Ciara. I don’t want to get in trouble with my supervisor, or Detective Ramsey. Then again, I’m not keen on crossing the CEO of Nosamo either, especially not you since everyone says you’re his right-hand person.”

  “A fact you should remember above all else. When word comes down from me, consider it gospel from Mr. Noor.”

  “So, he wants this done?”

  Ciara just smiled again.

  “Right. You’re not going to say.” Jackson blew out a breath. In reality, he was as happy as could be he was the one she’d asked to watch Gina. What better way to run interference? The question was why she picked him. A more troubling puzzle to be solved. “All right. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Be discreet. I’ll make sure you receive any relevant information.” She leaned in close, hand pressed against his arm so her lips brushed near his ear when she next spoke. “You can do discreet, yes?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Ciara withdrew and walked off down a corridor. Jackson straightened his jacket, going for nonchalance as best he could. But the discussion they’d just had was very public. No way his fellow officers had missed it. He could see out of the corner of his eye two others whispering to each other, glancing his way but trying not to sho
w it.

  “One, want me to have Gina dig deeper on Ciara? I can contact her now, let her know she’s on their radar,” Brant said.

  Jackson signaled in the affirmative. His hands had gone clammy, but rather than wipe them on his trousers and betray his sudden nervousness, he tucked them into his jacket pockets and dropped into a more relaxed stance.

  His fingers brushed something small and plastic in his right pocket. Without removing it, he felt around, cataloging the sensations until he figured out the object, a tiny datachip. Not his. It definitely wasn’t there when he left on patrol, but Ciara had been near enough to drop it in. No doubt that play with her lips had been meant to keep his attention.

  Jackson smirked. It was a hell of a distraction. She’d reminded him of Gina, which meant she was good—and all the more dangerous.

  Gina spun her chair as she waited for Brant’s decryption program to run. It had arrived in her message inbox written in code, mimicking an invoice from one of Nosamo’s mining contractors. At least the endless meeting with those same contractors was over—two hours of her life she would never get back. And thus, Jack will owe me an expensive dinner at a venue of my choosing.

  Her office was appointed with simple furnishings in black metal, glass, and gray cushions. A two-by-three-meter painting took up most of the wall to her left. Whimpering vines from one of the Saurian frontier worlds pulsed green and yellow to the right. Mercifully, it held no fish. She wasn’t sure how long she would last if that were the case, or how long the fish would last.

  Her console beeped. Decryption complete. Gina grinned. She could rifle through Nosamo flight rosters at her leisure. But she had only thirty-second windows each time, separated by at least a few hours. She traced as much of the schedule as she could and copied the image to her personal tablet—the CDF-issued model disguised as a civilian unit, not the official Nosamo tablet supplied by her employers.

  Hmm. It didn’t take long to spot discrepancies. Several freighters had come and gone within the past eight weeks, bearing the same cargo of either aerator wiring or regulator circuitry. They weren’t odd in terms of what they carried, but the amounts were similar. Gina read and reread the entries buried among the sprawling flight roster until it clicked.